Daughter, Sister, Partner, Lover
by nightflutterheart
Summary: Post S7. AUish. A series of one-shots and vignettes concerning Eric and his newest, if unexpected progeny. Strangely enough, Gwendolyn is learning more than navigating fangs, blood, and the endless night; since her death, she has been learning what it means to truly live. And Eric, well, he'll eventually have to decide: did he turn a childe or a lover? (updated sporadically)
1. Chapter 1

**Childe**

 **.**

Eric Northman returned to Fangtasia to find that the usually cool, upbeat atmosphere was absent. Instead, patrons were up in arms at the bar as they shouted at the lone human behind the counter, Ginger, demanding drinks. Frowning at the disarray, Eric surveyed the club, only to find it empty of the familiar faces he sought. Then Pam appeared from the back, carrying a clipboard and furious expression. She made a beeline for Ginger, adding to the abuse the woman was receiving.

"You fucked up the order, Ginger! You left off a fuckin' zero. _How_ do you fuck up our vodka order?" Pam was yelling at her. "We got _zero_ bottles of vodka instead of _ten_!"

Ginger, struggling as she whisked up drinks and accepted payments, shouted back with reproach, "That wasn't me! It was that dumbass new girl, Mira! Girl's got as much air in her head as she does in that fake chest!"

"Glass houses, Ginger," snapped Pam.

"Least _mine_ are real!"

"What the hell is going on?" asked Eric, appearing next to them. At his sudden appearance, the annoyed customers all settled, some simply in awe of his presence, others frightened by his reputation.

"Mira didn't show up. Rolland called in sick," said Pam shortly as she too began making drinks to help with the rush. "So it's just us, apparently."

"And our favorite little redhead? Not like you to not put her to work, Pamela," murmured Eric, again surveying the crowd. It was pointless; he could feel she was no in the room. Pam shot him a dirty look.

"If the little princess actually deigned to show her face, then I would," Pam said frostily. Eric sighed. While unsurprised by Pam's open disdain for Gwendolyn, he'd also hoped she was working through it. It didn't seem that would be happening anytime soon.

"I'll go find her," said Eric.

"Find her? Just summon the little—" at his look, Pam broke off.

"Fine. I'll hold down the fort," said Pam.

Eric found Gwendolyn easily. Their bond, still so new, burned bright like a newly born star, so vivid and impossible to ignore. It was strange how different it felt from the one he had— _had_ —with Pam. Even though it had been over a hundred years ago, he remembered that first year of his bond with Pamela well, treasured it even. He had been so careful with her, so intent on being the perfect Maker… where had that tenacity gone?

Gwendolyn was somewhere he knew her to be often, though he himself had never personally visited. He simply had felt her presence in the little Shreveport suburb. And there she was, perched on the roof of a little house, just inside the sill of a window. He did not reveal himself to her, choosing to simply observe his youngest Progeny. He had always thought that Pam had been difficult. Then he'd sired Gwendolyn.

She was a strange apparition, sitting there in that windowsill. Her skin shown with the ghostly pallor of their undead kind, but her hair was the flaming red of life, of the very star in the sky that would end her. Her eyes were green of the wilderness she seemed to belong to, the one called to by her bare feet. Pale pink underwear peeked through the sheer white dress that hung on her frame.

She was singing. Softly, and with such a delicate care Eric felt a coldness wash over him, the dead organ in his chest threatening to twitch with emotion. Not for the first time, he wondered if he had made the wrong decision when he had turned her.

Decision; had it been a decision? Hardly that. Instinct.

He was so lost he hadn't even realized she'd stopped singing. It only occurred to him when she rose, touched her hand to the glass window, and then dropped down to the ground. Then she was ghosting down the street, slowly, silently wandering.

Taking her place on the roof, Eric peered into the room she had been singing outside of. It was quite clearly a child's room, and though at first Eric had assumed it to be a little boy's room by the posters and toys and colors, the little girl sleeping in the small bed proved it to be otherwise. Eric struggled to try to guess her age. Five? Ten? Perhaps somewhere in between? He wasn't so sure about human children anymore. She was dark skinned, and her little pink lips parted as she breathed to reveal small white teeth. Her hair was a bush of tight black curls. Eric cocked his head to the side, wondering how his progeny had known this tiny human. At least, by the feelings he had known her to feel through their bond, he assumed she had known the child. Glancing over his shoulder, he caught sight of Gwendolyn turning into an adjacent street.

Eric followed. He had never done such a thing with Pam, but then again Pam had always been an open book. Pam had taken the change in stride; he had very little doubt she had been born to become anything but a vampire. She had immediately reveled in what they were, just as he had. Gwendolyn was… different. She was difficult to gage, because she told him so little but felt so much and so incessantly. Eric was constantly bombarded by surges of her feelings, so strong and explosive he was being reminded of so many emotions he had long forgotten. She was, he supposed, a puzzle.

As he followed her, he tried to sort out through the emotions that he could currently feel coming from her end of the bond. She looked so incredibly melancholy, a ghost in the night haunting its old dwellings, that he was surprised not to find that same gloom in her. Instead, he felt an astounding amount of…curiosity. Eric watched as she wandered away from the sidewalk and peered into the homes of the humans that lived in the little houses. Her fingers would trail over the fences and short gates she'd easily hop, whisper over the petals of flowers and rosebushes. There was a rhythm to the way she moved, like she moved to a symphony only she was privy to. With the way her small feet flitted over the ground, he thought she might have formally studied dance, likely ballet.

It was when she stopped at a yard and dropped into a sitting position before a child's bike that Eric decided he'd had enough. He was feeling oddly… uncomfortable by his progeny's wanderings. When she began to tinker with the bike's chain, which had fallen free of his wheel, he revealed himself to her.

"Midnight mechanic, are we?" murmured Eric, slipping his hands into his pockets. Gwendolyn's green eyes snapped up at him, and she smiled. Her end of the bond crackled with surprise and contentment. Excitement.

"My expertise doesn't go past bicycles, I'm afraid," she murmured in return. She wiped her greasy hands on the dewy grass, then stood up. She was gazing at him questioningly, waiting for his direction.

Eric simply observed her for a long moment. He was… lost. He'd already been a Maker—and a damn good one, he'd agree with Pam on that. They had wanted the same things to fuck, feed, kill. But he felt out of his depth with Gwendolyn, like a snake trying to coddle a songbird. They had different natures, and before long he would slip up and devour her whole.

He reached a hand out to cup her cheek. The corners of her lips turned upwards as she leaned into his touch. There was that contentment again.

"Have you fed yet?" he asked. She shook head, causing him to frown. She had an incredible temperament for a fledgling; he did not recall Pam being the same. Then again, she was petulant by nature. Still, he remembered the recent fledgling vampire Jessica. She had been a nightmare. Gwendolyn was almost questionably well adjusted, which made him suspicious. Things that were too good to be true… well, they were just that. Too good to be true.

"You're hardly a week old. You need to feed often. Your body is still adjusting to—"

"Death?" prompted Gwendolyn, green eyes shining with an emotion he could not place.

"I was going to say 'the change'. But yes, death," said Eric.

"Is malnutrition a thing with vampires?" she asked interestedly.

"Rare. Even for those who hate what they have become," said Eric, watching her carefully. He noted no outward or inward reaction. "It is difficult to resist the urge to feed. Especially for young vampires. Come,"

Gwendolyn obediently fell into step beside him as he took off out of the yard and down the street. He felt her curiosity renew, along with a sense of excitement. It took him a few moments to realize that her excitement was due to his mere presence; he realized grimly that he had not made himself entirely available in the past week to her. His own doubts had kept him away along with the excuse of business, and he had left her to the care of Pam for much of that time. He needed to get his shit together.

"I often forgot to eat when I was human," said Gwendolyn. "Hmm. When I was human," she repeated, like she was tasting the words for the first time. "That slipped out so easily."

"It's different for our kind," said Eric.

Gwendolyn merely hummed in response. "Blood is nice, but none has been as nice as yours,"

Eric chuckled at that, glancing at his progeny with mild amusement. "You remember the taste of my blood? Impossible,"

"It's what I remember most clearly about that night. I don't remember dying or the moments before. At least, I don't think so. What I remember was… pleasant. It was nice. I don't think death is supposed to feel that way," said Gwendolyn. Eric came to a stop, gazing down at her.

"You remember your death _pleasantly_?" he asked incredulously. "A thousand years and I still remember the pain of mine. I drained you of your blood and then fed you mine. That was 'nice' for you?"

"Wasn't my worse Friday night," Gwendolyn said cheekily. Eric scoffed, resuming their walk. "Getting shot was painful. That was the worst bit. But it didn't hurt when you bit me. _That_ was…"

"Nice?" offered Eric, though this time with something of a smirk.

"Yes," said Gwendolyn. "And I remember the first drop of your blood that touched my lips. It tasted like the sea and the winds that toss the ocean waves. Which I remember thinking was so strange, because I've never been to either sea or ocean. But it was so peaceful and beautiful. And comforting, too. Like coming home after being away on vacation for very long,"

Eric remained silent, pondering her words.

"Are you going away again?" asked Gwendolyn. She could feel her hope that he wouldn't, that he would remain. He cursed the coward that he had been for staying away. He had thought of her all night every night, his newest progeny, had listened closely to their bond and tried to decipher her very thoughts. Of course, she didn't know that; he knew she worried he might reject her. Was that not the fear of every child with their parent, and in turn, that of parent with child?

"No. I have been away long enough," said Eric. "It is time I know my progeny, and that she know her maker. I've been… preoccupied until now, and I apologize. Starting tomorrow night I will help make certain all your affairs are in order,"

Contentment. Curiosity. Anxiousness.

"When will I be able to see my family?"

"Pamela and I are your family now," Eric said sharply. He paused to stare back at her when he felt her stop. She was frowning openly at him.

"Just because I'm dead doesn't mean my family isn't my family anymore," said Gwendolyn.

"They're human, Gwendolyn," reminded Eric.

"So were we. Some of us more recently than others," shot back the redhead, glowering like an angry kitten. He remembered how Jessica Hamby had disparaged her human family often when she had been staying at the club with them in her first days; leave it to him to sire a human so close to her human family.

"Exactly. _Were_. You aren't just some vampire, Gwendolyn. You are my progeny; I am sorry for it, but my enemies are your enemies. Your human family is clearly a weakness that can be used against you, and therefore me. If they matter so much to you, you will keep your distance," warned Eric.

He watched and felt as she struggled with this fact; he could feel the fight in her, but it was quickly giving away to pain. He sighed, wondering if she might cry. She looked like she might by the glossiness of her eyes; but she finally only nodded once, and then resumed walking. Eric followed, though he wondered if he had truly won this fight. She had given in far easier than he had expected. Had he overestimated her attachment to her human family? Perhaps they both had. It was normal for her to be confused right now, still sorting through the residual feelings of her former humanity. Perhaps she felt she was loyal to them because that was what she had always been; not because she still felt a need or desire to be.

Only time would tell.


	2. Chapter 2

**Gwendolyn**

Gwendolyn Carver had been undead for eight days and seventeen hours. The redhead marked this passage of time in her notebook. She had quickly noticed that time did not stretch the way it had for her when she had been alive. Days were nonexistent now, occasionally filled by timeless dreams and nightmares. Nights became everything. She was acutely aware of the second the sun was past the horizon and she could rise, and each rising was somewhat mystical, like being born again each evening. And she was just as conscious of the approaching dawn, of the minutes when the rays from the east would begin to color the fading twilight like a watercolor painting. Then she would experience the little death each day.

Strangely, this irrevocable schedule did not feel as constraining as she had imagined. The new day did not stamp out any opportunities. Except for the rise and fall of the sun each day, time had become meaningless to her. She had always been a patient being, infinitely so even for someone so young; death had deepened that quality. What she couldn't do tonight she could do tomorrow. And the night after that. And after. And after into eternity.

Eternity was another strange promise, though one that Gwendolyn was not currently willing to ponder. And so she focused on the crisp pages of her notebook, choosing to file away more that she had discovered.

On the programs on the television she had watched when she was alive, debates and talks about vampires always focused on the same things. Vampires were undead. They were fast. They were strong. They drank blood; they were beholden to the sun. Rumors were quickly dispelled that vampirism made one beautiful, taller, thinner: one was simply what they had been at the time of their death. But there was so much more, so much that went unspoken and now Gwendolyn had a very personal insight into it all.

She recorded that, prior to her death, she had been unable to draw. Even with a very clear image in her head or better, in front of her, she could never seem to make the pencil in her hand obey the directions in her head. But just earlier that evening, with a pen in her hand and a Fangtasia napkin in front of her, she had done a quick sketch of Pam. It wasn't until she was done with it that she realized how stunningly accurate the image was, and she'd been so in awe she'd left her post at the bar to retreat to her Maker's office to find her stashed notebook.

Gwendolyn had always had a passion for the arts, thank to her parents. They owned a modest little bookshop in an older part of Shreveport, and they'd always encouraged her and others to indulge in virtuosity. They had weekly poetry nights and events for budding writers. They hung art from local artists on their walls and at her suggestion, Thursday nights had been devoted to an open mic night. Gwendolyn had never been able to express herself adequately through paint or written word, but she had a voice for song and a body that lent itself to dance every chance it had. She hadn't danced since death, and only sung quietly in the dead of night, alone as she wandered her old neighborhood. If becoming vampire had given her greater control over her body—that was how she supposed she could now draw when she could not before—would she be a better singer now? A better dancer? She was suddenly eager to find out.

"If you're going to take your break, you gotta let me know," drawled Pam. Gwen glanced up at the tall blonde vampire, deftly shutting her notebook on her napkin drawing from Pam's prying eyes.

Pamela Swynford de Beaufort was a fascinating character to Gwen. She was, in many ways, everything Gwen would have expected of a vampire: tall, beautiful, unemotional and with a walk and attitude that could make a supermodel cry. She didn't seem to like much, other than curvy human women, her own appearance, and of course, Eric Northman. She was incredibly brash, but this was with everyone, so Gwen had yet to take offense to the older vampire's attitude.

"I'll remember that," said Gwen. She reached for an old bottle of Tru Blood on the table, and as Pam focused on that she slipped her notebook in one of the bottom drawers of Eric's desk. Politely, she asked, "Is there something you need me to do now?"

Pam laughed. It was a high, disbelieving sound, and she used her fingers to whip her long straight locks out of her face. She took the last few remaining steps between the door and the desk, leaning down and placing her hands flat on the tabletop. Her blue eyes bore into Gwen's. Knowing when she was being intimidated, Gwendolyn refused to blink.

"I already don't like you. Your whole 'yes ma'am, thank you ma'am' is only making things worse," said Pam. She smacked her lips. "I don't know what the fuck Eric saw in you. Nearly dying has made him soft or maybe it's just screwed with his head. I don't know. Quite frankly, it's none of my business why he turned you. Only that he keeps dumping you on me, and that I am a partner in this establishment. You might not be mine, but you are my employee. Therefore I expect better than your lackluster, flat, plane-Jane personality. You're bringing down the bar. So if you don't have a personality, _fake one_ ,"

Huh. So Pam's disdain for her might have been a _little_ personal. As she worked through the newfound knowledge, Pam scoffed in impatiently.

"See, Tara's quarrelsome and doesn't know when to hold her tongue, but at least she's interesting. You're a pretty face, gingersnap, and that's where it ends. You're boring my customers. When the humans come here, they expect to feel like they're interacting with vampires, because they _are_. You will flirt and you will seduce and you will keep our customers happy and paying. Do you understand?"

"Yes," said Gwen. Pam rolled her eyes, strutting back out the door. "Oh, and get yourself a new wardrobe. This Corpse Bride thing you've got going on—I despise it,"

Pam left, leaving her to ponder the interaction. As a human, she would have both been intimidated and upset by Pam's harsh criticism. Now it was mildly perturbing because, well she _dead_.

Gwendolyn wasn't without company for long. Eric came into the office, appearing a bit surprised at her presence behind his desk. He made a gesture for her to rise, and so she did. But when she made to leave, Eric curled a finger in her direction. Gwendolyn perched on the edge of his desk, watching him expectantly.

It was bizarre, her relationship with her Maker. She imagined it to be like being reunited with an absentee father. She'd grown up without him, didn't know him well, but she felt safe with him, and instinct told her she should care for him and obey him. Bizarre indeed.

"Pamela harassing you?" asked Eric as he moved piles of papers and folders around his desk. Gwen made to move, but Eric's hand put pressure on her knee to stop her. She hid a smile, pleased that she wasn't in his way.

"Not at all," said Gwendolyn, tone peppy. Perhaps too much so, because the Viking chuckled.

"You'll learn to lie convincingly in time. Sisterly strife?" he asked, though he didn't sound particularly concerned either way. She chose to believe that it wasn't because he didn't care, but because he knew Pam rather well.

"Adjustment period," answered Gwendolyn with a shrug of her shoulders. A she did, she caught sight of her dirty dress in the black television monitor across the room. Pam hadn't been entirely wrong about that, at least. She needed new clothes. Eric hummed in acknowledgment as he pulled a few folders towards him. As he began whatever work he had, she considered leaving. But she didn't feel dismissed despite his averted attention, and so she hung out for a bit longer. She should return to work, but she was quite content satisfying her craving for time with her Maker. It was another one of those strange vampire urges: the urge to be near, to please her Maker. She remembered occasionally feeling this way with her parents; upon returning home after having taken a weekend trip with the school, or when one of her parents seemed upset. Yet even then, it wasn't to this extent. This need was nearly physical. She wondered if he felt it too. Was that why he hadn't shooed her away yet? She doubted it. Pam had briefly mentioned once during the week that because of the newly forged bond between Maker and progeny, feelings would be temporarily exacerbated. But Eric had been gone more than not since her turning, so she wasn't so sure about that.

"Can I get paid in advance?" she asked after a while.

Eric glanced up at her blankly. "Paid?"

Gwen cocked her head to the side. "I mean, aren't I sort of an employee here?"

The Viking sat back in his chair, considering her for a moment.

"I just need clothes for work. To blend in better," said Gwen. "And I can't keep borrowing from the lost and found. And definitely not from what Ginger brings me."

" _Pamela_ ," Eric cursed under his breath. He was up in an instant, crossing the room to a small black safe in the wall. He opened it with a few spins of the dial, and then pulled out a small black box.

"As I'm sure you've learned during your time with her, Pam is not only a massive bitch, but also quite lazy. No matter. I should have done this myself anyway," said Eric. He handed her the box. "Your new life. Now come."

Curiosity burning in her, she took the box in her hands and then followed her Maker. He led her past the bar, barking out to Pam that Gwendolyn was done for the evening. Pam scowled, but in a flash she was seated in the throne and watching over the bar. Tara, who was behind the bar, flashed her a quick wink.

Eric took her to his car, a beautiful dark grey Ashton Martin Vanquish. Gwen had never cared for cars before, but even she could admit that the car was sexy. The interior was just as appealing, smooth black leather and gleaming argent accents. Once she was seated, Eric pulled them out of the parking lot.

As he drove, Gwen took a look at the contents of the box. Mostly, it was documents. She found a new Louisiana ID card and license—she dimly remembered Eric taking a picture of her against a white backdrop the evening after she'd been turned—and a credit card with her name on it. A passport. Another credit card, though that one had a sticky-note on it that told her it was for emergencies. The rest were documents of the sort she'd never even seen before: vampire documents. They legally recognized her as Eric Northman's descendant in the human world. The other documents were more standard. A quick scan revealed she'd been added to Eric's car insurance. Another bank account. There was also a ring of keys; she could guess what the blood red enameled key with a black 'F' opened. It was somewhat overwhelming, having her new life handed to her so neatly that in a little box.

"Anything missing?" asked Eric, glancing at her. Gwendolyn suspected that, had she still been human, she might have suffered through a panic attack. But it seemed vampires weren't subjected to those sort of things, and her panic was quickly compartmentalized and distant. Soon it felt trivial. Cool.

"What, no dental?" asked Gwendolyn, eyeing her Maker. The corner of Eric's mouth turned up into a crooked smile, and she received a rare glimpse into his emotions through their bond. She was pleased to find he was feeling approval. Of her.

"You work at the bar to pay your dues, yes. But make no mistake. You are not just another employee," said Eric. His eyes were on the road, but she felt all of his attention on her. "You are my progeny, and I take care of what is mine. You'll never want for anything. All the same, I will not make the same mistake I made with Pamela. That she is so lazy is partially my fault. As a fledgling, I spoiled her far too much,"

Gwendolyn could get used to that, though it would take time. While her parents had always tried their hardest to provide her with everything she could have ever wanted, they'd gone through their fair share of tough times with the store and a mortgage and two children. She knew what it was like to be aware of every penny.

"Despite your curiosity, you haven't asked where we're going," said Eric.

"I assumed if it was my business, you'd tell me," said Gwen. Eric glanced at her, an eyebrow cocked.

"Well aren't you a good little girl," purred Eric. But his words made her reflect on what Pam had said to her earlier in the night.

"Do you think I lack a personality?" she asked. This time Eric's surprise was palpable, and he looked at her for a good moment. The car never swerved an inch off the road.

"I think you're…"

"Lackluster?" offered Gwen.

Eric chuckled. "Definitely not that. But you are exceedingly mild-mannered for an infant vampire. You've been almost too agreeable. You do as you are told without complaint, without question,"

"You're my Maker," said Gwendolyn.

"You don't know me," countered Eric. "And you know very little about vampires. I tore you from death's clutches and made you vampire. Pamela asked for the change. Others beg for it. Even I had a choice, as most do. I did not offer you that same courtesy,"

"I wasn't exactly in a place to give consent," said Gwen. She remembered a comment he'd made a few nights previously. "I don't hate what I am. If I did, I would have walked out into the day the first chance I could,"

"Tara was like that. It took her time to accept what she became. Even once she had, she fought with Pamela each chance she had. Pam had to Command her quite often," said Eric. "And you don't resent me? Even a little?"

"Like you said. I don't know you. If you turn out to be some awful ma— _vampire_ —that makes my time on Earth hell and takes away my free will, then I'll easily come to resent you. You've been admittedly absent since turning me, but when you are here, you've been good to me," Gwendolyn paused.  
"I might not know much about the vampire world—

" _Our world,_ " chimed in Eric. Gwen smiled.

"Our world, then. But do I understand that your position makes you important and your age powerful. And from the way you and Pam act, your bloodline is important. I don't get the feeling you're liberal with your blood. Of all the vampires that could have turned me, I think I'll learn I was quite lucky," said Gwendolyn.

"You're almost infuriatingly well-adjusted," said Eric, his amusement strong. Gwendolyn shrugged, her eyes on the warehouses they were passing by. She recognized it as the part of town she'd always steered clear from; she remembered once, in high school, she'd fallen asleep on the bus and ended up in the neighborhood. She still remembered the fear that had gripped her as she'd scrambled out of the Warehouse District, feeling on edge like she was being stalked. How her knuckles had turned white as she held her house keys firmly in hand, her only weapon for defense. She'd been late to dinner that night, and never fallen asleep on the bus again.

Now she didn't feel any of that fear. Even if she had been without Eric, she wouldn't have felt at unease. Another positive of vampirism: feeling safe. There was no human that could physical overpower her, and vampires were not like humans in that they attacked unprovoked, did not force themselves on others.

"Does that bother you?" asked Gwen.

"What, that you're so attuned?" asked Eric as he pulled into a parking space. She nodded. He cut the engine and turned to face her, considering her question for a moment.

"No. It reassures me I did not make you on a whim," said Eric. He had answered her question, but he didn't make a move to get out of the car. He could clearly tell that she had more questions for him.

"Why _did_ you turn me?"

"And here Pam told me you were so quiet," teased Eric. He reached a hand to tuck some of her hair behind an ear. Gwen noted she was overdue for a haircut, and now that she had money, it would be one of the first things on her list. "Do you know how many children I have?"

"Not statistically," said Gwen. "But given that you've been alive for over a thousand years, I'd imagine quite a few,"

Amusement again. "I made my first progeny in the nineteenth century. My second, last week,"

Gwendolyn stared at him, absolutely dumbfounded. " _Oh_."

"Oh," repeated Eric in agreement. "You correctly deduced that I'm not 'liberal' with my blood. The blood is sacred; none as such so as ours. My Maker was one of the greatest vampires to have walked the Earth. His name was Godric, and it is his lineage that you carry."

"Pamela asked me turn her. Hundreds before her had asked the same of me. She was the only one who's wish I granted. I could tell she was no ordinary human. Over a century later, and I am reminded daily I made the correct choice. Even though I have Released her, she is more loyal than most vampires are to their Makers."

Eric toyed with the ends of her hair for a moment, lost in thought. Then his eyes reconnected with hers. "You I came across, and did not have the courtesy of time on my side. You were on the brink of death; I followed my instinct."

"Instinct?" repeated Gwendolyn dubiously. Eric nodded.

"Yes. I have no interest in the ordinary. Those few seconds before death, I was intrigued by you. Enough so that I felt I knew what I needed to know. Then I simply followed instinct,"

"So glad my stupidity and foolishness _intrigued_ you," muttered Gwendolyn.

"Eye of the beholder. I saw a girl willing to face her own mortality in order to stand by her beliefs. That," murmured Eric, tilting her chin up. Her eyes locked with his. "Is an extraordinary admirable trait, for human and vampire alike."

The warmth of flattery and pride fluttered through Gwendolyn, and she smiled brightly at him.

"I think that's the nicest thing anybody has ever said to me," said Gwendolyn. His lips twitched.

"So back to your original question: no, I don't think you lack a personality, nor do I think you have a lackluster one. I think you are as you were in your human life: rather reserved, don't care much for attention, and are generally used to suppressing your personality unless you're comfortable with someone,"

Gwendolyn pursed her lips, smile fading at being laid bare like that. "Excellent deduction, Watson."

"Holmes," corrected Eric. "I'm the genius, you're along for the ride." Then he was stepping out of the car, and Gwendolyn was shaking her head and following after him.

She soon learned that she was indeed along for the ride, as Eric had business to conduct in the warehouse district. The particular warehouse Eric took her too was situated right on the edge of the Shreveport docks, and it took her a few seconds to get used to the scents that assaulted her. Boat exhaust, city grime, fish—she was still learning how to dull her powerful senses.

The warehouse they were destined for was not as lifeless as it appeared on the inside. It was quite busy inside, a mixture of vampires and humans working inside. As it turned out, it was a vampire-owned shipping company, and Eric had come to inspect the business. His mere presence seemed to set them all on edge, and vampires and humans alike stood straighter and the mood turned a little more hushed as they strolled through. Gwendolyn watched on eagerly, ever curious about her Maker and how others viewed him.

They reached an office, and a lean vampire greeted them. He was tall, though still not as tall as Eric, with long brown hair he kept pulled back in a ponytail and a long slim nose. The corners of his brown eyes slanted up a little, giving him a permanently mischievous expression.

"Mr. Northman, good to see you as always," greeted the vampire, inclining his head respectfully.

"Gwendolyn," said Eric. "Meet Axel Reed. He owns this business,"

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Reed," said Gwen, shaking his hand demurely.

"Ah, but the pleasure is all mine," Axel placed a kiss on the knuckles of her hand. Gwen caught Eric rolling his eyes. "Though I have to ask: to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Gwendolyn is my progeny," Eric said coolly. Axel's eyes widened, then quickly shot over Gwendolyn again.

"Of course. I should have realized," said Axel. "I'm sensing a pattern, Mr. Northman, or is it entirely coincidental that both your progenies are such stunning women?"

Annoyance sparked through Gwendolyn, and for the first time since she'd been turned she found something to be genuinely offended by. She'd marked 'end of misogyny' in her notebook as a pro of vampirism; she made a note to cross it out later.

"What do you think, Gwendolyn?" asked Eric, a smirk in place. He had definitely sensed her displeasure. "Pattern or coincidence?"

"I never took you as the type to be so shallow as to bind someone to him simply because they were pretty to look at," said Gwendolyn, smiling innocently up at her Maker. "Then again, I'm only a week old. What do I know?"

Eric smirked back down at her.

"I like her," said Axel. "I'll say the common denominator is a sharp wit, then,"

"Probably best," agreed Gwendolyn. "Though I think it's safe to say your Maker had neither looks nor wit to choose from,"

A beat of silence.

Then Axel laughed.

"I _really_ like her," said Axel, shaking a finger in her direction. The momentary tension Gwendolyn had felt at perhaps having crossed a thing passed, and she hid her own satisfied smirk.

"I'll get the books, Mr. Northman," said Axel. As he disappeared into his little office, Eric leaned in to whisper in Gwendolyn's ear.

"Well done, Watson."

Gwendolyn had bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling too widely.

* * *

 **Special thanks to those that reviewed, followed, and favorited this story! I appreciate it so much!**


	3. Chapter 3

**With Death Comes Liberation**

It was a strange thing to visit one's own grave. This thought Gwendolyn as she stared down at the patch of freshly upturned loamy soil. There was no gravestone yet, only a simply, temporary plastic marker that announced Gwendolyn's body. Of course, although she did have quite a nice coffin of her own in the basement of Fangtasia in lieu of the renovations occurring at Eric's, her body wouldn't be decomposing in the one currently six feet under. She wasn't even sure _how_ this whole thing had gone; something had to have noticed they were burying an empty coffin, right? Then again, she had the feeling her Maker had a lot of experience with sorting out things like dead bodies and fooling mourning families. A bitter taste entered her mouth. Curious, because these days she hardly tasted anything beyond blood and the scent of humans. Everything else was either muted or repulsive.

"How are we feeling?"

Gwen's eyes roved over the flowers that had been left for her. They were a variety of colors and strains, but she was certain they'd be wilted within a few days. She'd never understood the practice of giving flowers; even in death the reasoning behind it escaped her.

"Like you don't know,"

"I'll take that as 'saucy'," remarked Eric. Gwen turned to him, frowning. She had, after borrowing a less extreme and simpler dress of Ginger's, insisted he let her go visit her grave. Her family and friends had buried her only hours ago; she wished she could have at least seen them from a distance.

Gwen had chosen to wear black; so had Eric. It was impossible to tell if he too was paying some form of respect, or if he was simply dressed for another evening at Fangtasia.

"My parents think I'm dead," said Gwendolyn. "But I'm not,"

"Astute observation,"

His deadpan tone bothered her, but she ignored it. He had been in a mood since she'd asked to come to the cemetery. She wasn't even sure why he'd accompanied her if he was feeling so foul. "It's not really fair, is it?" she continued "Can't you just, make them forget me or something?"

Eric's flippant expression wavered. "Besides the whole host of problems that would entice—I can't exactly glamour everyone you or your parents have ever known—would you really want that for them?"

"I'd want to spare them the pain, yes," said Gwen reproachfully. "I know I'm not dead, but they don't know that. And even if I can't be with them, and if I can't let them know I'm okay, I don't want them to have to suffer unnecessarily,"

Gwendolyn could tell he was not pleased with her line of thinking. She waited silently as he sighed. He closed the distance between them so that he could free her hair from where she had pinned it back. He played with it for a moment, eyes fixed on the red curl his fingers teased.

"When someone you care for is gone, it is difficult being the one that is left behind. But take it from me. As painful as it is to know every day that they are gone, you become grateful for the memories you have of them. I don't have to know them to know that they would rather cherish the memories they have of you, then forget you entirely," said Eric.

Gwen stared at him helplessly. She was quickly learning that it was somewhat frustrating to try to reason with Eric Northman. He thought far too logically, from a carefully analytical, succinctly emotionless perspective. Gwen, who had no plans to give on her humanity and emotions any time soon, could understand that she had a new life, but was not willing to let go of her old was so easily. Not completely, anyway.

"But it it's, it's more than that. They're not vampires. They're human, and they reason with human hearts. Do you know what something like this can do to a family? Losing a child, and so violently and unexpectedly—it could tear them apart. I was looking it up online all night! Families, especially those with financial difficulties, are statistically proven to result in failed marriages and broken homes at a rate of—"

"Gwen, shut up." Eric placed his hand over her mouth for good measure. She was not appreciative of his words, but his tone had been soft. "If I had not turned you, they would be going through this all the same, correct?"

With his hand still over her mouth, she nodded begrudgingly.

"Exactly. And I'm aware of the Carver's financial history—"

"Hmow?" asked Gwen. Eric clicked his tongue impatiently as he removed his hands from her mouth.

"I looked into them," said Eric. Gwen scoffed; of course he had. "Which is why I generously and anonymously covered the expenses for your funeral. The debts your parents took on paying for your university have also been settled."

The muscles in Gwen's, which had been tightly crossed over her chest, slackened so much from the shock that her ands dropped to her sides. She stared up at Eric, noting that the longer she stared, the more uncomfortable he appeared.

"You did that?" she whispered.

"I told you I'd take care of you and your affairs," muttered Eric. "Loose ends and all,"

Gwendolyn's lips parted into a smile so wide she thought it might reach her ears, and she launched herself at her Maker so quickly even he barely had time to catch her in his arms.

"Thankyouthankyouthankyou!" she squealed happily, forgetting for a moment that they were in a cemetery, and at her own grave at that. Eric was stiff as she gripped his waist, but he finally wrapped his arms around her and stroked her hair with a hand. He was quiet for a long time and, she suspected, deep in thought. She didn't mind, simply taking comfort in the physical contact with her Maker. She had never been particularly touchy-feely when she had been alive, except for on special occasions. Or moments of drunkenness. But in the past few days she'd craved the grounding reassurance only physical contact could provide as she started to worry she'd become the very ghost her pallid skin made her appear to be. Specifically, she'd craved Eric's attention and contact.

It was still such an intricately complex bond, that between Maker and Progeny, that Gwendolyn thought she wouldn't stop marveling at it for a long time. She thought she might feel differently if Eric had turned out to be a tyrant or a big huge bore, but so far he had been just kind enough, just inviting enough that she was still captivated by her mysterious Maker. He emanated such cool power and careful authority she felt safe with him, finally understanding what people meant when they said, "A home is a person." In this case her home was a vampire, and though she knew most of that feeling might have been because of their preternatural bond, she also trusted it, because it felt too organic to ignore or suspect.

"This is a big change for you," Eric said finally. "In every sense of the word. I should have realized this sooner. I myself did not have a…peaceful parting with my human family. I did not let that go easily. It was foolish of me to think you would," Eric paused, but his hands continued their soothing rhythm over her hair.

"What happened?" asked Gwendolyn, peeling her cheek away from his chest enough to peer up at the tall Viking. Eric should his head minutely.

"A tale for another time. I will make you a deal, Gwendolyn," The way he said her name made her shiver, and she saw the barest hint of a smile at his mouth. He pulled away, taking her face in his hands. She stood silent and still, meeting the cerulean blue eyes of her Maker head on. He searched her eyes for a moment.

"When things have settled, you in your new life and the Carvers in theirs, I will let you see them. But, but," he said sharply when she broke out into excitement. "But only when I say so. You must learn your new place at my side, as _my_ progeny. There will be vampires that seek to challenge our bond, to get to me through you. There must be no doubts that your allegiance is first and foremost to me. Is that understood?"

The vampire in her was ready to agree at once, before he had even finished speaking. Gwendolyn was learning to juggle what she liked to refer to as her vampire heart against her human one. The vampire one was willing to bend over backwards until her back snapped if it meant pleasing her Maker. Her human heart rejected that he infringed upon her independence and freedom. It was an interesting dichotomy, at the very least. As a vampire she was ready to burn for him, but what made her _Gwendolyn Carver_ , entity unto herself, she found herself rebelling against his words. How dare he demand her loyalty without earning it? A little blood and a twilight spend in a fresh grave and she was his property now? She thought not.

"Do you understand me?" Eric growled, his hands tightening fractionally around her jaw. She knew he was feeling her rebellion, her conflicted feelings. And she knew he didn't like it.

Gwen did understand; she just wasn't so sure she agreed. Aware of the quarreling halves inside of her, the lingering human and the budding vampire, Gwendolyn tried very hard to think like what she was now, not what she had once been. Had any man ever spoken to her this way—a boyfriend, a friend, her own father—she wouldn't' have stood for it. But, and as difficult as this was to sort through, this was different. There was no dynamic in the human world that would match the one between Maker and progeny. No matter what she thought of him, Eric would be father, brother, her companion and her…well, she had never considered it before now, but it was entirely possible her lover. He would be all those things rolled into one and, unless he released her, bound by blood in a way that even human relatives were not.

"I understand," she finally acquiesced, perhaps a bit primly. It had occurred to her that, if she did not respect his wishes now, all he had to do was Command her. He hadn't done so yet, and she wasn't looking forward to the day when he did. The notion had been briefly explained to her; she hated it already.

Eric stared into her eyes for a few moments longer. Gwen tried to block him from most of what she felt; she wasn't sure if she was successful. He hummed, then he let go of her and stepped away, one hand slipping into the pocket of his black pants. The other gestured to her grave.

"Come. You've already derailed my schedule with this visit to an empty grave, and I do believe someone has a shift at the bar later tonight,"

Gwendolyn's mood further soured at his words; he could have stayed at Fangtasia if he thought this was such a waste of time. The corner of his lip's tugged upwards; he looked as entertained as if he had just read her mind.

She took one last look at the grave. Then she nodded offered it a two fingered salute and followed after her Maker.

Gwendolyn's sour mood didn't last long. Eric didn't drive them back to Fangtasia; apparently, his schedule had included her in it. Just like the previous night when he had taken her to the shipping warehouse, he didn't tell her where they were going. She was annoyed enough at him she didn't ask where they were going.

Then Eric pulled up his Aston Martin pulled up to the ritziest shopping district in Shreveport. Thanks to the large vampire population in Shreveport, The nightlife in the city had picked up considerably since the Great Revelation. A lot of humans hated to admit it, but the vampires had done wonders for businesses. Now many were open twenty-four hours, with shops, theaters, galleries, even if human owned, catering to vampires. Though not overtly crowded, the streets were more alive than Gwen expected, and she chuckled to think that they were so alive thanks to the undead.

"So are we shaking down vampire owned businesses for unpaid taxes or what?" she asked her Maker, eyes darting around curiously. She'd never spent any time here, and it was all so new; the night even seemed to blanket everything in a way that made it all more attractive.

Eric chuckled in amusement. He was already halfway down the sidewalk, his long legs as silent as a stalking panther. She hurried after him.

"Hardly. I'm taking you shopping, my delightful little progeny," said Eric. Gwendolyn brightened excitedly, then her eyes went as round as coins as she saw the store he was leading them towards.

Eric Northman was taking her to _Chanel_.

"See?" teased Eric, slipping his hand into hers. The gesture surprised her, but she clung to his hand all the same. "Not a total asshole,"

"Good evening Mr. Northman, how can I help you tonight?" A pretty, perky blond immaculately dressed in a simply black Chanel dress greeted them as they entered. By the way she stared at her Maker, Gwen could tell she was human. A twitch of her nose confirmed it. _Of course_ _they know him by name,_ thought Gwendolyn.

"We'll help ourselves," said Eric, firm but polite. The girl smiled back at him, and when he turned her eyes dropped to his ass. When the sale's girl caught Gwendolyn looking, she pretended to fan herself, mouthing _so jealous!_ Gwendolyn fought a grin; her Maker certainly wasn't bad on the eyes.

At first, Gwendolyn just followed Eric around the store, too scared to touch anything, much less look at the price tags. She knew that money was no object for her anymore, but it was all still so knew that she didn't feel a level of comfort yet at spending his money like this. She did need clothes; she did not need thousand-dollar shoes and dresses.

She wanted them, though.

Eric quickly grew annoyed at her being his second shadow, and soon quickly and firmly told her that she was a vampire, _his_ progeny, and she needed to start acting like it.

"If you like something, you get it. If you don't, we move onto the next store. We only have a few hours however, so let go of whatever reservations you have and _shop_ ,"

Gwendolyn groaned internally. Hadn't this always been a fantasy of hers? Some man taking her on the shopping spree of a lifetime and demanding nothing in return?

"I never pictured my sugar daddy to have fangs is all," she said reproachfully. "It's throwing me off," She stalked away, completely missing his dazzling smile of amusement.

She came upon a rack of dresses, wearily flipping through the garments for something that caught her eye. There were a lot of things she liked, but few things she would ever wear, or much less thought she could pull off. She was _Gwendolyn Carver,_ not, Pamela Swynford de Beaufort. Still, the vampire Barbie was all that she had for example, and she was here for work clothes. She pulled a silver mini dress with padded shoulders off the rack, examining it dubiously. Her hands reached for the black and silver chains on the shoulders.

"You _are_ difficult, aren't you?" murmured Eric, coming up behind her. Gwen glanced up at him.

"Sorry?"

Eric nodded to the dress. "I thought we were shipping for you. Not Pamela,"

"The thing is," said Gwen, putting the dress back and turning to face him. "I don't even know where to start. My only two examples are BDSM Vampire Lesbian and um, Ginger, so…"

He chuckled. "My advice? Don't try to mimic Pam, and certainly not Ginger. Shop for who you've always wanted to be in your most wicked little dreams,"

"Who says I've ever had those?"

Eric smirked. "In my experience, the innocent little lambs that get caught up running with lions are anything but innocent. For the first time in your life, you don't have to act, talk, dress a certain way to fit into you human society, your human family. You get to be everything you have always wanted. Does nothing come to mind?"

He moved on—he was under orders from Pam to pick up a few things, apparently—and left her to mull over his words. She quickly surmised that he was right.

She was a _fucking vampire._ She had no one to please (well, her Maker) but herself. Her insecurities about her body, her hair, and her features—it was all gone. Eric's blood had definitely smoothed out blemishes and some scars, evened out her skin, but that was it. She'd be rocking this body from now until the true death, and it was easier to accept that than to lament on the unchangeable. And yeah, she didn't have to worry about keeping up the image of mommy and daddy's perfect, sweet little girl. She didn't have a little sister that would be looking up to her at every word and action. She didn't have to worry about attracting "the wrong kind of attention". She only cared about whether or not she liked something.

How wondrous that liberation had come with death. This newfound revelation left Gwendolyn with a buzzing hum under her fingertips as she realized that for the first time in twenty-two years, she was finally her own person.

"Does Little Red get the night off? Again?" asked Pam. As he sat on the throne, phone in hand, Pam stood next to him overlooking Fangtasia with the expression of cool boredom and perpetual annoyance that even he couldn't pull off that well. He'd always admired that expression.

"Why, do you miss her?" asked Eric, his gaze lazily flicking up to his eldest. Pam's eyes tightened.

"Au contraire, Eric. You turned her, what, eight days ago? Nine? I've been the one stuck with babysitting duty for about eighty percent of the time. Hardly seems fair," said Pam. Then she smirked. "Unless of course, maybe you're regretting turning her?"

No one in the world knew or understood Pam quite as well as he did, which was why he let her comments slide. He felt naturally protective of his new progeny, and while he would not have allowed anyone to speak on his progeny or his choice in turning her, he did not attempt to silence Pam.

As much as he considered himself a lone wolf, in this too Pam succeeded better than he ever could. He had desired a sister long ago, and when he'd met Nora, he'd known he'd found her. He had been the one to ask Godric to sire her; he had not turned her himself simply because he hadn't wanted a child, but specifically a sibling. Pam had never wanted a sibling. Pam liked being spoiled by his attention and focus; she enjoyed being an only child with a special sort of greed. She would have always been jealous of another vampire, and so it was a happy coincidence that Eric had never felt the need to sire others. But now that she was released…well, Eric suspected she was feeling a little like she was being replaced. The notion itself was entirely ludicrous of course; who could ever hope to replace Pamela Swynford de Beaufort? None.

"She's getting dressed," said Eric. "I took her shopping with me earlier in the evening,"

"Oh goody," said Pam, folding her arms across her chest. "Just when I was starting to think my eyes wouldn't have to suffer through more sundresses and ill-fitting shorts,"

Eric frowned. "You think she's like Sookie Stackhouse?"

"Even Sookie Stackhouse would be a welcome reprieve. At least she had a fire in her. This girl's blander than synthetic blood."

Eric chuckled. "Gwendolyn is hardly a Sookie Stackhouse, Pam. Sookie's sweet but yes, fiery. But she is also impatient. I once believed she had the right temperament for a vampire; I was mistaken. But Gwendolyn is patient, curious…reserved. Subtle. She's slower than most at shedding her humanity, yes, but I have a feeling as she comes into her own, she'll be quit the devious little thing. Do you really miss the mischievous in her?"

"I think you're overestimating her," Pam said resentfully. "The girl's boring. She's too agreeable. She's spacey too, lost in her own head. And she doesn't _act_ like a vampire. It's bad for business,"

"I guess I will have to see for myself tonight, won't I?" murmured Eric. If Pamela was right, then that would have to be amended. But Eric had faith in the infant vampire, and as he felt her presence, his eyes darted over to the entrance. She was coming now.

Before they'd left the shopping district, Gwendolyn had pretty much begged him to let her stop at a hair salon. After checking the time, he had agreed to let her stay longer, telling her he'd send a car to come pick her up. She'd been thrilled, keeping one of the new outfits she had bought for herself, and letting him take the rest in the car; every trace of the melancholy girl that had been present at the cemetery had been washed away.

What had just stepped into Fangtasia was no girl. This was a vampire.

Eric's eyes drank her in. Before, the longest strands of her hair had reached to waist, pointing like an arrow. Now the red orange strands had been straight across and fell just past her breasts. That wasn't the only new thing: she now sported a heavy fringe. Her outfit wasn't anything of the outlandish sort that Pam wore and Tara had adopted; neither did it consist of the teeny-tiny jean skirts and shirts that Ginger wore.

Her outfit was simple in its charm, but the way she wore it gave Eric the impression the clothes didn't make her sexy; she made the clothes sexy. Gwendolyn had squeezed into a pair of low cut, black leather pants that were practically glued to her hips and pert ass. They tapered out a bit at the knee, falling into a gentle flare under which she had hidden a pair of high heels. Over all, the effect was that she looked much taller, legs much longer. On top she wore a tiny crème white crochet top. Her make-up was light but smoky, giving her a youthful, playful like.

She was already drawing interested eyes, but Eric's favorite thing was that as soon as she was inside the bar, the first thing she did was find him. He felt the thrill only a Maker could know, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep the delighted smirk off his face when she smiled at him sweetly, if a bit coyly, and slowly spun on the spot to shot off her outfit.

"Better than a sundress, at least," muttered Pam.

"I'll say," purred Eric, entirely invested in his progeny across the room. It was no small wonder to see how she'd stepped into her new skin. _This_ was Gwendolyn Carver, he thought.

"Still. I hate the fringe."

* * *

 **-Hi guys! So I just wanted to thank everyone that has read this little fic so far, and especially those that have reviewed/favorited/followed! Reviews are lifeblood sometimes, haha. I'm new to this fandom, so it's nice to get feedback on my works. 3**

 **-Hope you guys liked this newest part; if you're reading my other True Blood Eric/Oc fic, you might understand how strange it is for me writing both at the same time. The fics feature completely different sides of Eric!  
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 **-I _am_ working on other True Blood stuff, so if there's an interest I'll get around to posting that. One is a slow burn Eric/Oc fic of which I've currently written about 40k words, and I'm seriously considering making it my summer project, but we'll see. ****  
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**-!-So, this isn't central to this fic or anything, but I've been playing around with the idea of bringing Godric into this. IE he wouldn't have died. Godric wouldn't be a love interest for anyone, but I thought it might be interesting to see the dynamic of Gwen/Grandsire Godric, and for Gwen to see the dynamic of Godric/Eric. Let me know!**


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